


Every Universe

by notboldly



Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: The Next Generation (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Pseudo Science, Psychic Bond, Soulmates, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/notboldly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim found out there was a tear in the universe, he did the only logical thing: attempted to drag that other Captain Kirk through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Spock was neither young nor innocent when he met James Kirk for the first time, but for all that he was considered a fully-matured adult by his peers, meeting the brave new captain of the  _Enterprise_  made him realize that his life up to that point hadn’t been worth much. It was not an exaggeration to say; he had achieved minor things in the field of science, made few acquaintances he would term friends, had loved quietly and sincerely and lost more than a Vulcan of only thirty-five years should have, but what fleeting accomplishments he’d had never made him feel whole, complete, or at peace. James Kirk—Jim—did that with only one look, one meeting, and Spock had never  _felt_  anything like it in his entire life, and never expected to again. Not any longer.

A hundred years was a long time to be without Jim, and Spock knew it. He felt it in bones which creaked as much as any piece of furniture, in his body that was slow to wake from dreams of him, in his mind that was slow to remember reality every morning. He knew it, but in his height of illogic, he sometimes convinced himself that it had only been a day, an hour, since he’d last seen him. Sometimes he even convinced himself that Jim would be coming home again—his Jim—rather than the sporadic and rare visits of his painfully young counterpart.

And when he could lie to himself no longer, Spock kept himself busy, until he was too tired to move or think. New Vulcan—named as such because the Vulcan name was unpronounceable to most and painful to those remaining few citizens of the original planet—was a thriving colony now, the first difficult year in the past and the second rapidly coming to a close. Although he did not think the differences between this world and their homeworld would ever be forgotten—a slightly shorter day, slightly colder temperatures, a blue sun, rain—they were less offensive than they used to be, buffered by as many of the old ways as possible. A Kohlinar ritual still meant the same when performed at one of their new temples. A degree from the Vulcan Science Academy was still prestigious, even with a smaller building and fewer alumni to guide those who wished it. Rituals that were once forgotten, however, were now performed in spades, yielding a society that remained pieced together despite forces that naturally repelled, logic and illogic. Where once marriages were arranged in youth, diminished numbers forced competition for each match, and  _pon farr_ —accelerated, no doubt, by the trauma of their lost world—forced deaths where there should not have been. And there were rituals associated with that, costly ones that were performed without fail, because they could think of no other way to avoid seeing the rain that fell from the skies.

But it came as it always did, once a week at least. Despite being a desert world, the rain came regularly, a strange phenomenon that yielded fat drops of water tainted with chlorine, drops that disappeared rapidly in the heat of the day, often before hitting the ground. After the sun went down, the rain glittered against paned glass and chimed against metal roofs, a reminder they didn’t need. Spock listened to it every night.

However, this night was different. The light tapping of rain against the roof was accompanied by loud, echoing thuds, and it took precious moments for Spock to realize that the sound was knocking, and to rise from his bed. His knees protested the motion, and his skin prickled at the shock of cool air as he hurried quickly to the door.

When he opened it, he saw two faces that surprised him—or one. Jim, the young version that inhabited this time, was leaning against the doorframe, his blue eyes piercing and unnatural even in darkness, supporting someone who sagged heavily against him. Spock would have said he was surprised by that alone, but then the slightly shorter man’s head lolled to the side, and he saw his face. He didn’t need to see the eyes behind closed lids to know that they were brown, hazel, a glittering array of colors.

Jim. His Jim.

“Jim, what…” He stopped and swallowed, moved aside. A younger version of himself darted out of the unseen distance, and Spock held the door open long enough for he, too, to enter.

They said nothing as a limp Kirk was deposited on Spock’s only available couch, and when this universe’s Jim spoke, it was about nothing at all.

“Jesus! Nobody said that this place got storms like  _this_!”

Spock watched his younger self snap to attention, and look at his captain incredulously.

“I mentioned that fact no less than six times, Captain.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say they were having one  _now_!”

“I believe that was also in my report, and can be verified.”

Spock listened to the banter with half an ear. Normally it would have pained him. Now, however, he was distracted, his old heart beating like a baby bird.

“Jim, what happened?” Spock couldn’t help but finish the question with a rasp, and the young man he would one day know so well smiled his cocky grin, then patted him on the back.

Spock didn’t miss the way dark eyes followed the action, and he wondered if his younger self knew that he was in love with his captain even now.

“Think of it as a ‘welcome to our universe’ present, old man. I’d love to explain, but we have exploring to do. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Spock nodded and watched as Jim returned to the rain, his aged double remaining perfectly still among the thin cushions. Spock’s young self watched him for a moment, and then added quietly:

“He is in shock from what I believe is a broken bond. His life is not in danger, but he will require a healer, unless his bondmate is available.”

Spock nodded and smiled enough that the other Vulcan looked offended.

“He is.”

The door closed quietly behind his last visitor, but Spock barely noticed. His Jim lived and was in his sitting room, ninety-seven years after he had died and twenty-six years before he realized that Spock was waiting for him; the time conundrum was staggering, and Spock reached out a shaking hand to brush damp blond hair, thinning at the top.

 _T’hy’la_ …

Jim stirred, and opened bleary eyes.

“Antonia…?”

Spock snatched his hand back, and Jim fell into unconsciousness again. Of course; this Jim had been snatched from a place with no time, a universe with no ties, the Nexus. It explained how he existed…but he had also been pulled from a place where his idea of paradise was not a ship and his bondmate, but a cabin in the woods and a woman he’d lost, the final heartbreak that Spock had been dealt seventy-eight years after he’d thought he would have no more. And to think he had assumed that now as well.

It appeared he’d been wrong. And Spock sat, his heart aching, wondering what it was the Jim of this universe had done, and how he could reverse it.


	2. Chapter 2

_2 months previous_

********

Jim wasn’t a scientist, but he would be the first to admit that a lot of that was simply nomenclature. When he’d actually bothered to attend class in high school, he’d aced everything from chemistry to computer science, and with the heart of a true explorer, he’d had a curiosity that couldn’t be satiated by mere knowledge no matter how he tried. In the academy, it had been much the same, with a few more “creative solutions to problems” than actual grades, but Jim rather thought that if he’d ever learned to take orders from  _anyone_ , he could have been a science officer or engineer instead of making the (somewhat impulsive) decision to enter the command track first. But he hadn’t, he didn’t, and the Earth had been saved as a result—he couldn’t say he regretted his choices _that_  much.

But every once in a while, Jim got a particularly persistent  _itch_  to know something, even when the science community as a whole was disinterested. It was an itch that he soothed with books and research and interviews and it always inevitably went away. Sometimes, however…sometimes were more difficult than others.

Like this deal with red matter and artificially created black holes. He knew he wasn’t supposed to snoop or care, but the explorer in him couldn’t help it, and the scientist knew that there had to be answers.

He’d snooped. It wasn’t as effective as it should have been; after all, there was the tiny hitch of it not existing in his timeline and the fact that the one person he could have interviewed about the stuff—that Old-Spock from some other time—was remarkably tight-lipped about it, even with  _him_. And considering Old-Spock was more than happy (yes, happy) to talk to him about anything at any time, that was really saying something. The Spock of his own timeline even told him he was being foolish; after all, red matter had destroyed planets and ships and killed billions…some things were best just left alone, and Spock knew it. Jim should have known it.

He investigated the black holes that were made instead, and it was there that he made his discovery. Mainly, it was that the artificial black holes did one thing that normal black holes didn’t: they closed. Sealed themselves up like a knot in a balloon after they were done wreaking havoc on their surroundings, almost like they were more unstable than _normal_  black holes…and then he made his second discovery.

They didn’t close, not really. Black holes were created from the collapse of matter under extreme gravity normally, but these ones were created from igniting that special matter. An explosion, not an implosion. And it left a tear, somewhere.

A tiny, itty-bitty tear.

There was no science to support that, of course, because how did someone measure a microscopic tear in the infinite stretch of space, one too small for eyes or instruments to see? Normal science couldn’t, but Jim knew about it.

Every time they passed the site of the destruction of the U.S.S. Kelvin, Jim had dreams. Dreams that were too eerily like reality somewhere else to make sense. And his theory—of the instability of black holes—was proved through those dreams of soft kisses and waking up looking into dark eyes and aching so much that he felt like he would puke, his muscles were so tight. He thought it might have just been his mind trying to reconcile what Old-Spock had told him—about how he and his Kirk had been lovers for far too short a time, that other Kirks and other Spocks had been the same—and he thought that maybe the site of the black hole had left a small portal to the world that other Spock had come from. Some other universe that triggered these memories he’d never lived.

And then they were back in his home solar system, and he had a different dream, one that didn’t make sense no matter how hard he thought about it. Chopping wood…who the hell actually chopped wood in the middle of spring? Jim wasn’t sure what he was doing, especially since he knew a beautiful woman was waiting for him inside, a woman he’d loved for years. And then he was confused, because where was Spock? He didn’t know how he knew, but Spock was supposed to be here…except he wasn’t. Antonia was here, and…who was Antonia?

Jim woke up gasping, his heart aching again, but this time—rather than waiting for exhaustion to pull him back to sleep—he went to see Bones. In his quarters. In the middle of the night. He wasn’t surprised that Bones tried to hit him.

“Damnit, Jim! What are you doing, coming here at  _three a.m._? I ought to—”

“Bones, I think there’s either something wrong with me, or there’s a hole in the universe.”

Which was a lot to drop on someone at three in the morning, but Bones handled it like a trooper. His mouth went slack for only the barest of seconds before he ushered him in, the tricorder he kept by his bedside all but flying into his hands.

They waited for several minutes while the machine hurdled through every test Bones could think of and the “soothing” beeps lulled them into tense urgency, as they always did. When the tests were done, Bones just lowered the machine with a sigh and blinked sleepy eyes at him.

“Nothing wrong with you, Jim, so far as I can tell. Now what the devil are you on about?”

“Bones, I think I keep making some sort of connection with a different me every time  _Enterprise_  passes the site of one of the black holes created by the red matter. And this one…Bones, I keep having memories that aren’t mine when I sleep, but this site…it’s like they’re happening right now. Like I’m spying on other-me’s life,  _right now_.”

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“Maybe not.” But Jim shook his head anyway, his body automatically contradicting the reluctant agreement, and Bones shot him an exasperated look.

“Jim, why aren’t you talking to our resident brainiac about this?”

Jim shrugged reflexively, not quite sure but glad he’d chosen Bones; Spock had never seen him in his spaceship pajamas, and he intended to keep it that way.

“Because he  _would_  hit me if I knocked on his door at three a.m., especially if he was tapping Uhura.”

“ _Damnit_ , Jim! Why do you do that to me?”

Jim ignored the sputtering indignation, mainly because he’d already started to pace. To think. Old-Spock hadn’t told him how his other self had died, but he must have—humans just didn’t live as long as Spock had when he’d traveled back in time. But if that other him had died, why didn’t Spock say? Why didn’t he warn him away?

Unless Spock hadn’t been there. Unless Spock didn’t know. Considering what little Jim knew about the two of them, the idea was almost too terrible to contemplate, and he made a quick decision, darting from sickbay and ignoring McCoy’s startled “hey!” that followed him.

It might have been oh-three-hundred hours on  _Enterprise_ , but the continually adjusting time difference meant it would be mid-morning at the new Vulcan settlement by the time his call went through, and Jim suspected the elderly Vulcan would have the answers to his questions. Suspected it, and feared it.

By the time the communications department had re-routed him, he was sure that the fear showed.

“Jim?”

Spock answered calmly, his voice as raspy with age as it had been the first time they’d met. But he looked at Jim with fondness and familiarity, like a gentle older relative who loved him, and Jim felt his fear leave him like the air of a popped balloon.

He wasn’t asking about  _his_  death—he was asking about that other Kirk, and for everyone’s sake.

“Hey, Spock.” The visual was faintly blue, and Jim thought it was the screen for a moment, until he remembered the blue sun that must have been peering at him through clear skies. “Got a moment?”

Whatever Spock had been doing on his datapadd, he immediately set it aside; Jim smiled slightly, knowing that he most likely didn’t warrant a Vulcan’s full attention, but feeling grateful that he was given it anyway.

“Of course, Jim. Is something the matter?”Asked casually, as if Jim called him all the time in the middle of the night. He should have called him more often, actually—he must have been so lonely.

“Just a quick question. Um. How did your Jim Kirk die?”

Spock’s questioning gaze, if possible, softened further.

“Jim, your universe is different from mine. Do not concern yourself.”

Jim knew, and the biggest difference was staring him in the face. The idea of the Spock he knew—so brittle and unforgiving—eventually growing into this one seemed impossible.

“I know, but I’m just…curious. You’ve never said, and he…he was important to you.”

The phrase sounded awkward, as Jim knew it would, and Old-Spock corrected him gently.

“I loved him, Jim, very much.”

“Yes, well…you must have been there when he died.” Which would make all of his  _dreams_  just that; just residual memories that were easily dismissed like so many of the others. Not reality.

But Spock looked away, looked almost sheepish.

“No, I was not. I had work that needed to be conducted on Vulcan, and we fought. I did not hear that he had died until two days later, and then again seventy-eight years after that.”

The oddity of the statement caught his attention, and Jim prodded cautiously with his questions.

“What do you mean?”

Spock looked sad, and Jim could have kicked himself.  _Stupid…_ this Spock had loved him, and here he was asking irrelevant questions? But it was too late to back out now.

“My Jim was trapped in a universe without time for many years, a place called the Nexus. It was only after he emerged that he truly met his end, but I…was not aware.”

Spock looked away, and for the first time since they’d met, his face held no expression. It was almost eerie; he really _did_  look like Spock, which meant Jim shouldn’t have been able to read him at all.

But he saw guilt. Guilt, and sadness.

“I’m sorry.” The words, as always, were inadequate.

“ _Kaiidth_ , Jim—what is, is. It cannot be changed, and should not be.”

Jim wondered if he would be as calm about losing the love of his life, and doubted it. Weren’t Vulcans all spiritual about this—concerned with soulmates and stuff? It must have hurt his old Vulcan soul, and a lot.

And despite what Old-Spock said, an idea begin to form in the back of his mind. A very bad, very good idea.

“Jim?”

 _Holes in the universe…_ it could explain everything. Fix everything. And if the universe that was exposed was the one where that other-Jim was waiting…what was it that people always said about once-in-a-lifetime chances?

“Jim, should I call Doctor McCoy?”

Jim blinked, smiling reflexively and waving a hand in front of his face.

“No, Spock. I’m fine. Tired.”

“You should not be up so late—youth does not last forever.” Spock’s voice was gently scolding, and Jim felt warm.

“Why do I feel like you’re giving me advice that you used to ignore all the time?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“I see you have made friends with my counterpart.”

“Not friends exactly, but—well, he hasn’t tried to choke me again.” Which was good enough for Jim, really—the Spock of his universe was just a bit too unyielding for his tastes. Stern. Not fun at all except when he was, not like this Vulcan who  _smiled_  all the time. Who made him feel warm.

Jim truly wanted the old man to be happy, and it was with that in mind that he said goodnight, not whispering so much as a word about his plans—a surprise. Then, head already full of theories and possibilities, Jim fell asleep, and he even welcomed the strange dreams with open arms.

********

“Other-you and other-me were in love!”

As much as Jim liked seeing the appalled expression on Spock’s face at the way he announced himself when bursting into laboratory six, it was probably not the best way to propose his idea.

“If you desire that sort of relationship, Captain, I suggest you take it up with my alternate.”

Cute _._

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Just, it only makes sense that if there are two of you, there must be two of me, right?”

Spock mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “perish the thought,” and Jim scowled.

“One of these days we’re going to have a conversation about those little side comments you make. It’s not very Vulcan of you.”

Spock glared at him and Jim glared back. It was pretty standard for their mornings, and because Spock usually seemed to remember they were supposed to be professionals first, his glare quickly became a more traditional Vulcan expression; namely, exasperation.

“Captain, was there something you required?”

“Yes, actually.” Jim scratched his head and glanced at the floor, posture deliberately casual.“I think I have an idea of how to find other-me, and bring him to this universe.”

“No.”

Spock had turned back to his work—whatever it was he was doing at six in the morning—before Jim had even absorbed his answer, and he scowled at the blue-shirted back.

“What do you mean, _no_? I’m the captain!”

“ _Captain_ , as this sounds suspiciously like an experiment and I am your science officer, the matter must be cleared through me.”

Damnit. Whoever made that rule deserved to be shot, and it was with a huff of annoyance that Jim hoisted himself onto the counter next to Spock. Delicate beakers rattled from the action and Spock reflexively caught them, not bothering to chastise Jim as they’d had this conversation before and it never took.

In fact, except for moving things to the opposite counter side, he ignored Jim entirely.

“It’s a  _rescue mission_ , and you should  _want_  to do it! It would make Older-Spock happy!”

Spock didn’t look up; they’d had a conversation (argument) about this as well.

“I am not my alternate, Captain, and you cannot promise happiness. Perhaps he left him behind on purpose.”

“ _Hey_.”

“Furthermore, you are proposing an experiment that could potentially damage the universe. Even if you had a way of locating your alternate in some other time period and history, retrieving him would be difficult, and the consequences of merging two universes impossible to determine.”

“It wouldn’t be  _merging_  them; there’s a hole already, you know,” Jim insisted, almost defiantly. Spock actually looked up.

“And how, pray tell, did you come by this knowledge?”

Jim knew it would only be awkward if he made it that way, and so he met Spock’s eyes deliberately. Daring.

“I’ve been having dreams. Of me and you, when we’re older.”

“Indeed.” Spock looked away first, and it was only then that Jim stared at the slate gray countertop.

“Hey, they were nice! Just…weird.”

“‘Weird,’ Captain?”

Jim shrugged, grinning almost to himself as he kicked his feet back and forth.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like you  _really_  have freckles on the inside of your—”

“The details are irrelevant,” Spock interrupted, too quickly.“In any case, if there is indeed a hole, it would be wise not to exacerbate it.”

Jim poked him in the arm, knowing that unless he did something ridiculous and  _human_ , Spock would consider the matter dismissed. As it was, Jim didn’t have to see his face to know that his eyebrow had just rocketed up his forehead.

“That’s why I have this theory, see? We can snatch him out with the transporter, if it’s rigged right.”

“Captain,” the word was slow and lingering, the way it was when Spock argued with him during mission briefings and won.“Introducing unknown matter from one universe into another is foolish, and likely impossible.”

“Don’t act like you’ve tried it! Come on; where’s that big science-y brain of yours?” Jim batted his eyes; he didn’t know why, because Spock just looked at him blankly. Like he was a stranger, and therefore completely immune to any variation of Jim’s pleading expression.

“My brain is a consistent size regardless of subject, Captain.”

Jim sighed, and slumped dramatically.

“Does that mean you’re not going to approve my experiment?”

The quick “correct” he expected didn’t come, and he looked up to find Spock watching him with an expression that said he knew he’d regret this (except not, because that wasn’t  _logical_.)

“It will require a great deal of research,” Spock warned instead.“This ‘hole’ between universes will have to be located beyond theory, the transporter will need to be modified to something that Mister Scott is very likely not comfortable with, and we will have to account for the fact that we would be removing matter from another universe.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Jim couldn’t believe it; he hadn’t even had an  _argument_  that would convince  _Bones_ , never mind the most critical person he’d ever met.

Spock just sighed.

“That, Captain, is a  _tentative_  affirmative, on the condition that you will abandon this idea when it inevitably proves fruitless.”

“Deal. But if I’m right, I’m totally asking Uhura where your freckles are.” The threat was met with nothing, and Jim rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling misplaced in a way he hadn’t since his youth.“How is she, by the way?”

“Adequate, and not up for discussion.” Which was at least the expected answer, and not what Jim feared, which was “Why do you keep asking?”

But because Spock’s refusal to answer even the most basic of personal questions always made him feel  _weird_ , Jim hopped off the counter and pasted a wide smile on his face.

“Alright, then—where do we start?”

“You, Captain, are going to eat breakfast before you are required to report for alpha shift, and I am going to finish my report on the growth of spores on Venturi XIV.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You can, of course, choose not to eat breakfast, but you become irritable in the afternoons when you do so.”

“I have low blood sugar.” Jim waited, watching as Spock continued to input data into the computer. The silence dragged on until he sighed.

“You’re not going to answer me, are you?”

Spock just continued to work quietly, and eventually Jim gave up, deciding to go get breakfast after all.

********

That afternoon went better than the morning, primarily because Jim saw that Spock had cleared his schedule after his shift; Jim naturally assumed it was for their project, and it was naturally awkward when he entered Spock’s quarters without asking to find Uhura and Spock standing extremely close, and then staring at  _him_.

But because Jim was used to being the recipient of negative attention, he just smiled.

“Sorry. You want me to come back?”

“That is not necessary, Captain,” Spock answered calmly, and then he glanced at Uhura. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Your input has been noted.”

Uhura’s lips twitched, and Jim would never understand what passed between them just then, no more than he understood the disapproving looks she kept shooting him despite the fact that he’d  _changed_.

“Sure, Spock. Any time.”

She left without acknowledging Jim with anything more than a nod, and Jim would have asked, but Spock probably would have deflected every question and turned it into something  _embarrassing_.

“You two weren’t making out or anything, right?”

Not that Jim needed help in the embarrassment department.

“If I understand the term, no, we were not. The Lieutenant had an opinion she wished to share about my personal choices, and I will not go into any further detail.”

“Fair enough. Where do we start?”

Spock, in response, thrust a datapadd under his nose. The small, neat signature of “Commander Spock” gleamed at the bottom, and Jim scrolled through the document, reading an impressive word count at the top.

“What is this?”

“The proposal for your experiment. Please review it carefully, and sign.”

Jim glanced at it, primarily because—smart as he might have been himself—Spock could give lessons to the Starfleet legal department in how to phrase things in an explicitly incomprehensible way, and Jim knew that he’d no doubt found a way to make the thing sound like exactly that: an experiment. So he signed it and handed it back with an impressed whistle.

“ _Jesus_. Are these the things I’ve been signing for the science department for two years?”

“With some variation, yes,” Spock replied as he signed it a second time on the “supervisor” line and hit submit.

“Do you write them all?” Jim wasn’t sure how he managed if that was the case, but Spock merely shook his head.

“I review them, but each member of my staff is required to generate their own when necessary.” He set the padd aside, and glanced at Jim. “Now, to business.”

“Great! Where do we start?” Jim asked again, and Spock handed him another datapadd. Jim sighed when he saw what was definitely an article.

“Spock, I’ve already researched this. A lot.”

“Indeed? May I ask where you found the material, as to my knowledge I am the only Starfleet officer with access to this file?”

Jim glanced at the padd in his hands again, and saw it—five hundred thousand words of Vulcan text neatly translated into English, with the ominous title of  _To Avoid Tampering With The Laws of Science, Time, and the Universe_. It sounded like a joke, but Spock looked at him expectantly.

“If you’ve read this, why do I have to? I mean, I’d like to, obviously, but this could take—”

“Days,” Spock finished, and upon Jim’s incredulous look, he continued. “By my estimate, the text in front of you would require 18.52 hours at your average reading speed, assuming full comprehension. There are other reports I would also request that you read, as I find them useful—”

“Spock, we’re in a bit of a hurry here. Besides, who has  _actually_  read this other than you, or other Vulcans?”

“When I taught Advanced Quantum Physics at the academy, Captain, all of my students were required to read this in its full text; this is the abridged version. Also, you do not seem to think your alternate self is in any immediate danger, or else you would have stated so beforehand.”

Jim could admit that Spock had him there—chopping wood was  _really_  only dangerous to how interesting his dreams were—but he had felt excited about this, and now he was going to spend his off-hours reading something that was probably as dry as it was logical. Not that he wouldn’t have picked it up eventually, but still; it was worth the overdramatic groan he sent Spock’s way.

He was slightly interested to note that Spock sat down with his own datapadd, however, and Jim took the action as an excuse to pry.

“And what, exactly, are you going to do?”

Spock showed him his screen—it was bisected, with Stephen Hawking’s  _A Brief History of Time_  on one side and something Andorian on the other.

“Don’t read that,” Jim said, pointing. “He’s pretentious, and it’s meant for non-specialists. You could probably rewrite it better.”

“Duly noted.” The file was replaced with another, this one in something that looked suspiciously like Klingon. “And Captain?”

“Yes?”

“Take notes as you see fit.”

Jim just sighed and picked up his datapadd a second time.

********

It was six days before Jim finally tossed the datapadd aside, having read the very last word in the very last line. Spock, who had stayed mostly silent throughout their “research sessions,” glanced at the slim technology where it landed on his bed and retrieved it without a word. When he handed it back and there was another file already open, Jim just groaned.

“Spock. Seriously, it’s been almost a week.” A week of slow, debilitating  _peace and quiet._ “How many books on the subject have  _you_  gone through?”

“I am currently finishing my eighth, but Captain—”

“No. I’m the captain here, and I’m putting my foot down.” Jim shut the padd off and deliberately tossed it aside a second time, watching Spock watch him.

“Your feet are already on the floor, Captain. Any further “down” and you would be emerging from the ceiling.” And when Spock decided to nitpick human phrases, it was because he was annoyed. Jim decided—quite logically—to respond by taking  _his_  padd and tossing that aside too.

“What I mean is, there’s research and there’s  _research_ , and I’m not a scientist. I’ve read a lot on this—maybe not the texts you’d think of, but a lot—and I’m aware of the risks. I’m also aware that everyone thinks slipping into another universe or time is impossible, which must make Older-Spock’s presence here a real kick in the teeth.”

Spock only looked at him in clear disappoval.

“Captain, I did warn you that there would be a significant amount of research involved.”

He had and Jim took that seriously, but this wasn’t the first time he’d been around the block; time and again, he and Spock proved theory  _wrong_.

“Spock, you’re the smartest person I know, with or without books. If we can’t do it, I’m pretty sure nobody else has written about it.”

“That is a logical fallacy. However, in light of your impatience, I see no reason we cannot establish theory through safe practices rather than simply reviewing the subject.”

“ _Finally_. Now, where do we  _really_  start?”

“As suggested by our itinerary, we will be passing the sight of the black hole that destroyed Vulcan on the way to Starbase Seven in two days. We will observe the phenomena that exist there, and apply this to our knowledge of the other sites.”

Jim winced; even after two years, he couldn’t help it, and he was glad that Spock had turned to retrieve their datapadds and didn’t see the reflexive action of guilt and sympathy.

“Okay. And now?” The words were hoarse, but Spock didn’t appear to notice that either.

“I will begin to formulate a mathematical equation for beaming a substantially large mass from a place that we can neither see nor detect through other means, with the assistance of Mister Scott. You may do as you wish.”

Spock had gathered his padd and what looked like a book—an actual physical  _book_ —on mathematical theory, and he stood at the door to his quarters expectantly; Jim was no longer welcome, and the routine was expected. Jim sighed anyway, collected his own padd and the shirt he’d carelessly discarded in wake of the damn  _heat_ , but before he left Spock’s quarters, he paused.

“What was that article again? The one you wanted me to read?”

Spock blinked at him, clearly surprised. What? Jim wasn’t doing anything else, and it  _was_  smart. It had nothing to do with  _humoring_  him.

“ _A Study of Collapsible Matter_ , by Frank X’Palla’l.”

“Alright. Have fun.” He punctuated the standard phrase with a wave of his padd, already opened to the relevant book. Spock gave him a look that was difficult to interpret, but that Jim liked to think was one of respect as well as shock.

“That, Captain, is highly unlikely.”

Jim snorted and watched him walk to the end of the corridor before trudging back to his own quarters with a curious lack of enthusiasm.

********

Two days later, they were no closer to developing an adequate formula than they were at the beginning of  _A Study of Collapsible Matter_ , and Jim wasn’t the only one about ready to pull his hair out. Out of desperation and zero progress after a day and a half, he and Spock had agreed to call in the other minds of  _Enterprise_ , splitting open the relative secrecy of the entire project when they consulted the engineering department, the science department, and even the navigation department for a fresh perspective. There wasn’t much hope, and Jim regretted that his people felt that going in, believing that they had nothing new to offer a problem that neither Spock nor Jim could solve.

It was disheartening, and by the time they had diverted  _Enterprise_  to pass the site of what-had-been Vulcan, crew morale was already in the bottom points, and stress through the roof. He wasn’t surprised to hear that some of the ensigns started to cry, and it was a disaster. A complete, utter disaster.

“Captain?”

Jim’s head snapped up from where it rested on his propped hand to look at Chekov, who looked like a wisp of a person; he was one of the first they had consulted, and he was clearly feeling the lack of sleep keenly, his cheerful curls flat and limp atop his head.

“Yes, Chekov?”

“Captain, we are approaching the coordinates of the site of Vulcan.”

“Set it on a patrol course, Chekov. Sulu, try and keep a circle around right where Vulcan…used to be.”

The answering “yes, Captain” went mostly unheard, because Jim was staring out the viewscreen at the scattered stars. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that there had never been anything here at all…but the recently made navigation charts said better, showing the lack of a gravitational mass in the slight change of angles and distances between the stars, in the way there was a hole where there logically should not have been one.

Jim sighed and rubbed his eyes. Not an awesome situation, no matter how he looked at it; he reminded himself not to take Spock’s advice on touring the grave of Vulcan ever again no matter the reason, and he almost regretted that it was necessary.

“Science officer, report.”

Spock didn’t. He, too, was staring, but thankfully not in shock or horror; contemplation, if anything, was all that lingered on his face, and even that disappeared when his eyes closed.

“Spock?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Captain. The stars have shifted again, but by only point zero zero two degrees. They appear to be reaching equilibrium with their surroundings.”

“Thank you, Spock.” The normal response—“I am only reporting, Captain”—didn’t come. Jim convinced himself that Spock was just tired too. And—because Jim was nothing if not worried about the state of his half-asleep bridge crew—he added a quick “Main bridge crew, contact your replacements and go catch four hours sleep. Dismissed.”

They left him alone with Spock for half a minute as they all funneled out gratefully, with the exception of an Uhura who looked strangely interested in her first draft of their report to Starfleet command.

“Spock? That includes you, too.”

“I am not tired, Captain.”

“Something wrong?”  _Stupid—of course there is._

“Negative, Captain. I am merely having a moment of silence.”

“Okay. But that offer of sleep is still open.”

“I would prefer not to accept. Captain…nothing remains.”

It was honestly the first time Jim had wanted to just hug someone—okay, the second. But he sounded so lost, and Spock was never lost.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Jim was sick of saying it, because this Spock never wanted it and it never helped.

But for once, Spock seemed to have found that same peace that Older-Spock had.

“ _Kaiidth_ , Captain. What is, is—”

“It cannot be changed, and should not be.” Spock looked at him in confusion, and Jim’s lips jerked, but it wasn’t a smile. “You know, you’re more like him than you know.”

Jim regretted it as soon as he said it, but Spock…although he looked annoyed, at least the blankness was gone.

“Captain, if we succeed in this venture I will consider myself vindicated in comparing you to your alternate at every turn.”

Jim sighed, as much from relief as anything, and he slapped Spock on the back. The bridge was already beginning to fill with the secondary crew members, and so he lowered his voice.

“It’s not a bad thing, you know. He’s just kind of a groovy old guy, and you’re…”

“I am  _what_?” Spock did not seem to have the same problem with attracting attention; the tone of his voice was dangerously acidic, and people were starting to stare. Jim blocked him instinctively and with a smile, because his Vulcan mask was slipping and…well.

“You’re a prickly bastard, but you’re still my favorite Spock in the universe.”

What Spock might have said to that true statement he wasn’t sure…because that was when Jim saw it. It was just a blip, just out of the corner of his eye, but it was definitely something that didn’t belong.

“Spock, what  _is_  that?”

Spock stood and peered through the eye scanner; Jim leaned over his shoulder, unable to help himself despite the fact that he couldn’t see anything.

“It appears to be an energy flux, Captain. It is curious, as no energy is gained or lost, merely… exchanged.”

Spock looked at him and Jim felt unspeakably, uncomfortably warm like he never had with  _this_  Spock—his First Officer actually looked  _impressed_. Grudgingly so, sure, but still impressed. No one knew that station like Spock did, and yet it was  _Jim_  who’d seen the anomaly first.

“An energy flux,” Jim repeated, and he knew he was grinning like a fool. The opening leftover from the black hole; he _knew_  it, just as he knew that only half of his enthusiasm was from the discovery.

“Yes.” Spock was still staring at him, and it was starting to make Jim a little uncomfortable.

 _What_? He wanted to ask. Jim hadn’t hacked the Kobayashi Maru with his  _pretty face_  (okay, fine, he  _sort of_  did.)But Spock was looking at him like he was a ghost or something…and then the expression was gone.

“Your ‘hole’ in the universe has been located, Captain. If this is indeed a consistent phenomenon, the option of transferring from one universe to another may be plausible.”

“ _Sweet_.”

“Indeed.” Jim was wondering if Spock had really just said that when he continued. “However, there is still the matter of an acceptable, safe equation.”

Oh. That.

********

As much as Jim would like to say that it required only a few more days of hard work to pull reality from his dreams, the truth was that the universe— _all_  universes, actually—had other problems to be concerned with beyond the happiness of one aged Vulcan. Two days after discovering the energy flux, war broke out on Callos, one of the Federation’s newest allies. Due to some bureaucratic nonsense, the three best ships were sent to battle…and due to foolishness all around, it turned out to be a trap. One of the oldest ones in the book, by all accounts.

Jim wondered how they’d missed the signs as he ran for his life, Spock and three security guards hot on his heels.

“Why is it,” he shouted over his shoulder as he jumped a teetering log, “that they always  _attack_  us? They sent for us; they  _know_  we have more manpower, more advanced technology!”

“Perhaps, Captain, they wish to steal it.” Spock stopped abruptly and Jim didn’t, but that was because Vulcan speed was impressive and he’d only paused to grab one of the security officers who’d tripped. It took less than a minute for him to catch up again, dragging a dazed looking Ensign Ricky behind him, and Jim grinned before diving behind a nearby tree. His crew—looking mostly relieved for the break—darted after him, hiding themselves behind their own spindly trunks. Jim couldn’t help but think it was funny; like a wave breaking against a wall, they all went different directions. Like water.

_Water!_

“That’s it!” Jim realized he’d shouted when their pursuers began to shoot at him again, and when Spock practically jumped on him, knocking him to the ground.

He wasn’t fast enough, and Jim could tell he was bleeding, because Spock’s hands were pressed tight to his shoulder and they looked slick and dark.

“Ensign, contact Mister Scott for an emergency beam-up!” Spock’s voice was harsh and cutting, and Jim wanted to say _“Don’t yell at him”_  but he felt his stomach do hurtles, and he vomited on Spock’s knees.

 _Shock. You’re in shock._  Jim could feel his body getting heavy, but he was remarkably calm about the whole thing, right up until Spock said something about “immediate surgery.” Surgery meant he’d be under for  _hours._

“Spock.” His hands scratched at blue shoulders, trying to get the attention of his First Officer who looked sterner than _ever_. And when Spock looked at him, it was with that half-pinched expression he got sometimes when logic had failed them.

“ _Spock_. Pipe flow! Water!”

Spock nodded, but Jim didn’t know if he understood; hell, Jim didn’t remember his epiphany either, but Spock was more than willing to tell him how foolish he’d been when he woke up four days later—shot with something that looked like a toothpaste cap, and infected on top of that. Bones had been worried.

Spock just chastised him for ruining their mission, and for solving the problem that had plagued the  _Enterprise_  for over two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

“Spock.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No, Captain. You require rest.”

Jim sighed and collapsed back against his pillows, glaring at the inflexible Vulcan sitting across the room. It was a sign of how weak he was that the expression faded quickly, and that—more than anything—proved Spock’s paranoia right. It was annoying.

“Fine. But if I rot away thanks to this…sickbed procedure, I’m going to haunt you  _forever_.”

Spock responded by scooting the table slightly closer to his bed, and by reluctantly— _very_  reluctantly—tilting the datapadd he held in Jim’s direction.

“Very well. Does this meet with your approval?”

Jim saw the formula, complicated and beautiful, but he couldn’t focus enough to be able to see much beyond that…which Spock probably knew. Jim blinked his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

“Fine, you win. Go away, you great science geek you.”

Spock responded by almost perching at his bedside. Jim thought he was imagining it.

“Captain, I see no reason why you cannot continue to contribute. In fact, I require certain personal information from you that would be pertinent prior to testing. We arrive at Jupiter in three hours, and after locating the site of the existing tear, it would be logical to test on something that is not as fragile as a human being.”

Jim lost him halfway through the explanation that he was pretty sure he’d been involved in constructing. Pretty sure. But three days of pain killers and being confined to (thankfully his own) bed was enough to make anyone doubt reality, and memories.

“Remind me how we figured this, again?”

“A matter exchange, Captain. We will approximate the weight of the mass to be removed from the universe of interest, and we will substitute with a mass of similar weight and composition simultaneously. Now, we will begin with a stationary object.”

Spock handed him a neat diagram which—despite the fact that it was sketched on a blank padd page—had nothing but neat lines to show the application of their equation, their loose theorization of locations based on energy flow. It made his head swim, even though he thought the teeny tiny “James Kirk” figure in one corner was kind of adorable.

But he was distracted, and Spock was staring.

“Like what?”

“Any object. Please take a moment to determine something of suitable simplicity,” Spock replied before removing his padd from Jim’s grasp and resuming his previous seat at the table.

Jim watched him for a moment before he closed his eyes, and tried. He’d had the same dream dozens of times and nothing had changed…but he kept getting distracted by the faintest slicing noise emitting from somewhere nearby, and he opened one eye.

Spock was eating. Why that surprised him, Jim didn’t know; Spock had kind of been haunting his bedside for the entirety of his off-hours for the past few days, and not even Vulcans could cram more hours into the day. Eventually he _had_  to eat.

Jim just wondered why he had to be so  _weird_  about it, though.

“Celery and avocado? _Together_?”

Spock looked up from where he had speared a slim slice of the green, pitted fruit with his fork.

“Is there a problem?”

“It’s just so…”  _green_. Jim didn’t say it, just shaking his head to himself. “Oh well; you are what you eat, I suppose.”

Spock stared at him like he was an illogical human, and Jim closed his eyes a second time. He heard that noise again, and he opened his eyes quickly enough to see Spock eating celery in these tiny, even, nibbling bites. He alternated between the celery and the avocado at a set pace, and Jim stared, completely forgetting what he was  _supposed_  to be doing.

It was driving him  _crazy_.

“Spock, in  _no_   _way_  is that how you eat celery.”

“Captain, I have been eating successfully without your input for my entire life. You will forgive me if I question your credibility in this matter.”

“No, seriously. The only good thing about celery—the  _only_  good thing—is the crunch. And, you know, putting other stuff on it.”

Spock had clearly decided that didn’t deserve a response, and he simply continued to eat. Jim watched for all of ten seconds, and then, exasperated, he leaned over quickly enough to make himself dizzy and snatched the replicated vegetable stalk from Spock’s hands.

Spock looked at him disbelievingly, and Jim took a huge, crunching bite from the green stem, chewing noisily while he handed it back.

“See?” Jim said over a mouthful of a vegetable that he just remembered he  _hated_. “ _That’s_  how you eat celery.”

Spock stared at him like Jim had just stolen and eaten part of his food, but the reactions that Jim expected—annoyance, disgust, confusion—did not appear; Spock just continued to eat his celery in his normal way, even the piece that Jim had gotten  _germs_  on. Jim wondered, briefly, why it  _bothered_  him that Spock was eating off of the exact same piece he had, and then he gave up.

In any case, he remembered a stationary object.

“There’s a young pine tree near where, er, the other Kirk is.”

Spock immediately pulled out his padd.

“Dimensions?”

“Couldn’t be more than three feet tall, and it looks like it’s about…nine feet away from him? I’m not sure how to describe it beyond that.”

Spock made a humming noise that was even more distracting than his eating habits, and Jim watched him make a notation, and a small diagram. It was a very close representation.

“Yes, that’s it!” Jim said, voice unnecessarily encouraging.

“Do you know what pine species it is, Captain?”

Jim hesitated and then shook his head; he wasn’t a tree person.

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you know where this pine tree is supposed to be? The approximate location created by your alternate?”

A cabin, in the woods—Jim doubted it would help as far as descriptions went.

“No. Sorry.”

Spock looked displeased; he always looked displeased, but Jim got the impression he actually  _was_  right then.

“This is a very rough estimate, Captain, but a pine tree of unknown species, approximately three feet tall, I would estimate…11.7 lbs.”

“Sounds about right.”

“We will have to map the surroundings around your alternate,” Spock continued, his fingers tapping away at the screen as he continued to speak.“If our estimate is incorrect, we may be beaming across a significant portion less than what is required for a living being.”

Jim blanched; for some reason, that hadn’t occurred to him, not really, until just then. He knew, of course, about transporter failures and the risk…but the idea of being met with half of his alternate self was more than a little horrifying.

Spock, thankfully, didn’t appear to be having that problem. He simply continued to lay out their plan.

“We may or may not acquire the tree you are describing, so it is necessary that you pay close attention to the details, Captain. And it is also possible that there may be other objects included as well—”

“Spock, just beam over the damn tree!”

Spock inclined his head and stood, clearly ready to leave to do just that.

“Very well.”

“Take me with?” Jim was ashamed to say that he was pleading, but what was he to do? Bones had said bed rest, and Spock—the bastard—had agreed. But it was only a  _puncture_  wound—barely even three inches long, even if it was in his chest. They were both worrying  _too much._

“Captain, you know the doctor’s orders.”

“Hey, you’re Acting Captain; you can override it.”

“But I will not. I will return shortly.”

Jim tried to wheedle more, but Spock wisely left before he could open his mouth. Jim pouted more than a little, and he spent his evening deliberately staring at the ceiling, so that if Spock asked when he returned, Jim could honestly say he’d been  _completely_  useless. This goal was quickly forgotten, however; Spock did return that evening, but it was with the news that the ponderosa pine they had beamed over had somehow been turned inside out.

********

“It is clear that our equation is not perfect.”

“ _Clearly._ ”

Spock ignored the heavy sarcasm in favor of continuing to make notes, which Jim had more or less expected when Spock had made plans to visit him during work that day. Their equation was a bust and that meant their  _plan_  was a bust, and Jim didn’t know when they’d be near the tear in the universe next—days.  _Weeks_. It was enough to put anyone in a bad mood.

“However, I believe it would be suitable with a better approximation of your alternate’s exact location.”

Jim scowled and waved his arms frantically, thankfully once again having full motion in his right side.

“Spock, it was inside out. I don’t want to be inside out!”

Spock gave him a look that told him he was being overly simplistic.

“Captain, a good deal of the issue was the result of attempting to combine two objects into one form. There is a noticeable difference in age between certain sections of the tree, and I believe this to be simple error of location.”

 _Simple_! That was easy for Spock to say; it wasn’t like he was going to test the formula on  _himself_.

“Well,  _sorry_. I can’t estimate distances like you can, or direction.” Not that it had ever bothered him before, but then he hadn’t been attempting to find a viable way to beam something over while  _blind_  to everything except his own surroundings. It was an unpleasant feeling, one he hoped to never have again, but it was almost worth it to see Spock do something that looked suspiciously like  _rolling his eyes_.

“That, Captain, is why we must map the surroundings more carefully.”

Jim scowled and crossed his arms, a barricade, but his voice was bitingly cheerful when he spoke.

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

Spock, in response, simply sat a second time, his datapadd now resting on his knees.

“You will tell me what you remember of the dream, and I will attempt to locate these surroundings as they exist on Earth.” He glanced up. “Your alternate is on a fabricated Earth, correct?”

“Yeah, but…” Jim perched on the table, wondering why someone so  _smart_  seemed to be committing to something that seemed like a waste of time. “Spock, that’s still  _really_  inefficient. It could take weeks of searching, and what if I didn’t remember it well enough? What if  _he_  doesn’t? We’d be right back to where we started.”

A stylus tapped impatiently on the datapadd—Spock seemed curiously on edge, like Jim had seen him only once before.

“I see no alternative.”

“I do. We can do that thing.”

A thin black eyebrow curved across Spock’s forehead.

“’Thing’?”

“You know—that  _thing_ ,” Jim repeated, waving his hand as if he could pull a word he didn’t know from the recirculated air. “Where you put your hands on that Romulan’s face and knew where Pike was on Nero’s ship. You could do that, see my dream, and guess the distances yourself.”

It seemed like the perfect plan to Jim.

“No.”

Jim made a frustrated sound.

“Come on, why not?”  _It’s logical_ , Jim wanted to add, but he had tried that once and only once, with the result being a lecture on the definition of logic and a week where Spock didn’t talk to him at all. Judging from the tone of Spock’s voice, he was already risking that…but strangely enough, Spock didn’t look angry.

He just looked…determined. Immovable. Fierce. And any number of other descriptions that Jim didn’t think about Spock, ever, not when he was awake.

“Captain, I refuse. The action is somewhat of an…intimacy.”

The way Spock’s tongue slid over the word made it seem like the worst description possible; Jim didn’t understand.

“An intimacy? And you’d rather do it with a stunned Romulan than me?”

“Correct.”

The revelation—that he ranked lower than an  _unconscious, violent Romulan_ —was unwelcome, and Jim knew he looked like a petulant child at that moment.

“I’ll bet other-you and other-me did it.”  _And other-you and current me_ …Jim didn’t add that last part, because frankly, there were some things he didn’t want to bring into the open, and being  _intimate_  with Older-Spock was one of them.

But because he didn’t add that, Spock didn’t so much as bat an eye.

“There is a high probability, but Captain, they were also lovers. The two are correlated.”

Jim wondered what he was supposed to say to that. “I don’t mind,” while accurate, was not the best thing to say to a First Officer who tolerated him at best, and who—while occasionally funny and even attractive—was mostly just a pain in the neck.

So Jim said the next best thing.

“Well, I don’t consider it harassment, or whatever.”

“I would, Captain.”

Jim should have been concerned with the implications of that—did Spock honestly think he was some kind of  _lecher_?—but for some reason, he could only seem to focus on one thing.

“What’s wrong with my mind?”

“To my knowledge, nothing.” Spock’s voice sounded placating, and it had the exactly opposite effect.  “However, I would prefer not to share what you ask with any of my colleagues.”

“Are you afraid of brain-cooties or something?”

“No.” And Spock was actually starting to sound angry, and brittle, stretched tight like the string of a harp. “I have stated my opinion of the matter, and I refuse.”

Jim held out his hands, pleading.

“Spock, there’s no other way.”

Spock stood quickly enough that Jim backed away.

“Then I will find one.”

Spock stormed out without another word, leaving quickly enough that he left his padd behind.

********

Jim didn’t see or speak to Spock for five days outside of the normal reports he insisted on delivering over the comm link, and when they finally did run into each other, Jim was well into the light physical therapy that Bones had recommended, and Spock was spitting mad.

“Fine,” he almost snapped, eyes narrowed. “Your suggestion has been accepted, Captain.”

Jim should have felt triumphant, but he felt mostly just scared—Spock was eying him like  _he_  was the dangerous predator, here, but Jim well remembered thin fingers around his neck, and Spock’s expression was just as familiar as he stalked towards him.

“Hey, hold on a minute. Where have you been?”

Spock paused, and he released a heavy breath.

“Mister Scott and I have been attempting to develop an upgrade to the scanners to be able to locate physical lifeforms in a non-physical space. As of this morning, it has been unsuccessful.”

“And?” Jim didn’t think that Spock had suddenly become warm for his  _brain_ , and he was right.

“I have been monitoring the hole between universes since shortly after our first attempt at transportation. It appears to be closing.”

Jim’s plans began to dissolve rapidly, and his face fell as he ran a hand roughly through his hair.

“ _Shit_. How fast? Why?”

Spock shook his head, looking frustrated.

“I can only estimate that the transfer of energy destabilized the boundaries and the flow. At the current rate of collapse, there are only thirteen days before it is sealed off entirely.”

“Thirteen days!” Jim echoed, and his mind began to whir. No time to fix their equation. No time to find Spock’s alternative. No time for mistakes.

“Yes. We have no choice; I must perform the mindmeld.”

Jim frowned at him, and immediately stepped back when he saw a hand lifting towards his face.

“The  _what_?”

“The ‘thing’ that you referred to. Please hold still.”

Spock raised his hand again and Jim moved again, this time with his hands held up in a gesture for “halt.”

“Whoa, hey! You said it was an “intimacy.” Shouldn’t we, I dunno, have dinner or something?”

Jim didn’t know how this thing was supposed to work, how Vulcans normally went about it, and he didn’t want Spock to hate him for disrespecting whatever cultural qualifications there were—that was all. But Spock just appeared to relax at his question, even while he shook his head.

“I would prefer not.”

Jim braced himself and fingertips pressed into the side of his skull, feeling sinfully hot, scorching hot.

_My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts…_

It was like before, and not. Whereas Older-Spock’s “meld” had felt like being consumed by a torrent of emotion and being wrapped in familiarity Jim had never known, this Spock’s was calm, rational, distant like being stranded in an ocean, and it was exhausting. He felt like he was trying to swim through molten lead, because it was  _hot_  and unwelcoming and it kept trying to pull him under…only a gentle voice in his head, whispering Vulcan words, kept him from drowning.

When Spock pulled back, jerked back abruptly, Jim cried out at the sudden return to reality, and he was breathing hard, like he’d just seen the saddest flick in his life. Spock looked no better.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Because something had to be wrong—it was  _painful_.

“I overestimated my skill. My apologies, Captain—it appears this will require multiple attempts.”

“Oh.” Jim finally understood Spock’s hesitation, but he knew it was too late to back out, to take back the offer to leave him drowning while Spock sorted through his thoughts. “Did you get something at least?”

“Affirmative.” The word was quiet, and then Spock returned, the Spock Jim knew. “I will map the current data, and return in two days. It would not be wise to attempt several melds in quick succession.”

Jim agreed, and he wondered why.

“’Kay. Can I help?”

Spock just looked at him for a long time.

“You have helped plenty, Captain.”

********

Spock returned two days later with an impressively constructed computer simulation of the cabin from Jim’s dreams and little else. Jim couldn’t help but resent the care that was clearly taken, the almost artful construction when the memory of the meld had not been gentle, and he couldn’t help flinching when Spock reached for him.

In the end, it was only the fact that Spock looked guilty and almost sick with himself that made Jim able to stand still long enough to allow it a second time, and he felt his breath puff out of his lungs in relief even as he lost awareness of his surroundings.

It was not like the first meld they’d shared; similar, but much less frightening and less intrusive. He felt like he was swimming in blessedly warm water this time, still alone, but there was sun shining on his face as he struggled, as his arms grew tired and his body felt heavy. He felt so tired…and those soft Vulcan words were like music, a lullaby, and then he felt himself slipping…

“Captain!” The word was a bark, and Jim was startled awake. He was lying on his floor, and he felt drained like nothing else.

“Spock. What the hell? I don’t remember that from…other-Spock.”

“You have melded with my alternate?”

“Only once. It saved time.”

Spock’s expression was unreadable, more so than usual.

“I see. My apologies, Captain.”

Jim sighed, tired.

“For what this time?”

“The procedure for such things is to leave the party who has not initiated the meld in a holding area when acquiring information. It did not occur to me that you would have a perception of danger associated with the meld, and that you would bring that into a safe place. It is your construct.”

“Danger? I didn’t…” Jim trailed off, partially because he had no energy to finish and partially because Spock was right in some small way. The emotions of Older-Spock, the sadness, the intensity…it had scared him, a little.

And he had thought the difficulty was  _Spock_. It was depressing to think that he was screwing things up without even being aware of it, and his head lolled as Spock attempted to straighten his heavy body.

“I will try to make the sensation easier for you next time.”

“Next time? Again?” Jim was not enthused, and Spock looked quickly to the side.

“Yes. Two more times.”

Jim sighed, not realizing until after he did that Spock was close enough for him to feel the breath on his face.

“We’re running out of time, Spock.”

Spock nodded once, and released Jim’s arm. Jim immediately slumped to one side, but thankfully he was barricaded by pillows and an immobile Vulcan.

“I am aware; we will attempt them closer together.”

Jim didn’t like the sound of that, but his eyes slid shut before he could protest, sleeping easily against Spock’s side. It was so warm.

Spock woke him three hours later to attempt the meld again, and Jim groaned, unable to stop himself. Spock’s jaw immediately tensed.

“I did inform you that the meld was an act of intimacy.” His voice was testy, and Jim nodded absently as he propped himself up, pushing himself to his feet with too much effort.

“Yeah, you did. But Spock, I don’t understand who would want that.” Jim realized what he’d said almost immediately, and he was more than a little relieved when Spock did not appear to take offense.

“In its most organic form, the meld inspires closeness and a sharing of thoughts. The shallow melds that I have been performing—”

“ _Shallow_?” And Jim felt like he’d been opening  _everything_  to the act. Spock just looked at him as he struggled to stand, and he lifted his shoulders in what might have been a shrug.

“Yes. These shallow melds are less pleasurable.”

The way he said it made Jim grin, the way he would with Bones, or any number of other friends he shared raunchy jokes with regularly.

“Would it be better for you if you went  _deeper_?”

Spock looked appalled, and Jim was suddenly very, very annoyed as he stared at the floor.

“Do not be ridiculous, Captain. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t peek where you’re not supposed to, okay?” Jim wondered if the warning was enough to arouse Spock’s curiosity, and then he was drifting again.

No—he was floating. There was no struggle; the sun was welcoming, the water was warm, the soothing voice was gentle as ever, and he felt…comfortable. Peaceful.

When Spock ended the meld that time, Jim didn’t want him to, and  _that_  was a problem. But then, Spock was also blushing furiously, and Jim couldn’t help but be amused as hell about that; he’d  _peeked._

“See? I told you they were nice—”

“—but weird,” Spock finished, managing to look professional despite the fact that his face was sporting a green blush that couldn’t be hidden by his pale skin. “Yes, Captain, I see what you mean.”

“Got enough? We can try again?”

“One more time, Captain…” Jim felt a surge of excitement that had nothing to do with their project, that he couldn’t explain.

“…but not tonight.”

“When then?” Jim hoped the enthusiasm didn’t show, the impatience, the longing. Such  _peace_!

“Tomorrow.” Spock looked amazed, but Jim didn’t mind. After all, it was an  _intimate_  thing; Spock was entitled to feel weird about his captain suddenly wanting to be all over his brain, especially after the rough start.

But surprisingly, Jim didn’t feel bad, and he didn’t sleep that night. Something was building, he could feel it…not just excitement, not just enthusiasm, not just longing. Actually, it  _was_  longing, but for what, he wasn’t sure. Spock must have felt it too; they didn’t say a word when he walked in the next day, just Spock pressing his fingers against skin and Jim tilting his head up and closing his eyes immediately.

He was swimming again, but it was strange: if he tried, he could pull himself to the surface and stand on the water, only to be overcome by the urge to dive back in. He did this repeatedly, his mind automatically connecting the action to something else, something that gave more than peace, relieved more than longing. Each time he dived, he was surrounded by warmth. By wet. By welcome. And that voice was still gentle, but now he heard it differently; caressing. Coaxing.

In retrospect, he should have seen the sex parallel, and been less surprised to find himself pressed up against his First officer’s body like Jim was moss and Spock was facing north. And yes, he was turned on as hell even though they separated immediately, some shocked part of him realizing that this must have been coming for a long time, that his vague attraction had become sharper. That all those melds had been a bad idea.

If Spock had been green the night before, he was  _chartreuse_  now.

“Thank you, Captain. That will be sufficient.”

Spock turned abruptly and left without another word, and Jim couldn’t mumble out so much as a “no problem” or a “goodnight” in return.

 He didn’t want him to go.

********

The mapping was completed in all its exquisite detail approximately four days before the tear would have closed, and it was tested thoroughly. After the first successful tree they beamed aboard, they tried other things. A block of wood. An axe. An article of clothing that looked suspiciously like some variation of a captain’s jacket. They tested it so often and so extensively that after the first day, Scotty told them they had to take a break, lest the transporter experience a failure when it  _really_  mattered. Jim agreed, and Spock agreed with him in turn, all the while pointedly not looking at each other. They had managed to not look at each other for days by mutual, silent agreement.

But like all good avoidance, it had to end; they had waited long enough, and the tear began to close more rapidly. They had hours, only hours left, and the beam over began. Although it was instantaneous, a mere fraction of a second, Jim swore he had enough time to count each particle of the roughly human-sized mass of spare parts as it disappeared, to be replaced with particles of a man.

A familiar man, the one he’d seen in his dreams, and happy. A man who wore most of a Starfleet uniform, a man with graying blond hair and the extra weight of age.

A man who—upon seeing his surroundings and blinking in confusion—promptly collapsed.

********

“I don’t like it,” Jim muttered, unable to stop himself for the third time, and Bones looked fondly exasperated as they watched the still form of Captain Kirk breathing deeply and calmly from behind a security screen, his vitals nearly stabilized.

“Jim, I’m sorry, but you knew there were risks. You didn’t expect to be able to yank someone out of another universe without some consequences, did you?”

Jim just scowled harder as he stared through the paned glass, the expression becoming more than a little furious as he watched Spock enter sickbay and sit at the head of the biobed, hands already poised.

“That’s not what I mean. I don’t like Spock being, er,  _attached_  to him like that. They’ve been connected on and off for, what, two and a half days?” As soon as Kirk had collapsed, Spock had been on him like a tribble on food, seemingly sensing something was wrong. Jim didn’t understand it, and—as he’d said—he didn’t  _like_  it.

“More like three, I’d think.” Jim gritted his teeth hard enough that they made a creaking sound, and Bones looked at him in alarm. “What’s wrong, Jim? You know Spock won’t hurt him. I may not trust that voodoo Vulcan stuff, but it isn’t dangerous when attempted by someone with training and experience.”

Jim knew that—he still didn’t like it. In his more irrational moments, he’d even considered putting Captain Kirk  _back_ , but fortunately, the tear had closed completely before he could implement his crazy, unproductive scheme. The triumph that he should have felt in spades at the success of his plan—he’d beat the borders of the universe, damnit!—was mostly absent, taking a backseat to something that he hadn’t expected.

Annoyance. That other Kirk was unconscious, and he already  _annoyed_  him. Jim could almost understand Spock’s protests about not being like Older-Spock if this was the kind of reaction just  _seeing_  him got, because every time Jim saw that breathing, living being, he wanted to shout it to the stars.

_I’m not him! I’m NOT him! I’M NOT HIM!_

And what was worse, that annoyance was starting to trickle over onto Spock. Irrationally. Stupidly. Impossibly.

But Spock was melding with someone else—hell if  _Jim_  knew why—and Jim hated it. Even after the embarrassment. Even after the excuses were gone.

Goddamnit—Jim had been hoping like hell this wouldn’t happen, because he was his own person and so was Spock, and destiny  _didn’t fucking exist_ , okay? They weren’t soulmates. They didn’t share a bond that would change history. While Jim admittedly found Spock  _decent_  to look at, that wasn’t saying much; Jim thought that about a lot of people.  _Tons_  of people.

But something was wrong, because for the past week, the attraction Jim should have felt for everyone else wasn’t there, and the attraction he felt for Spock  _was_. There was something wrong with his  _brain_ that he could only see one tall Vulcan when he closed his eyes, and it was all Spock’s fault. And even though McCoy had told him he was perfectly healthy and not showing noticeable signs of sickness or even emotional changes,  no noticeable change that he could blame for the sudden obsession, it was  _still_  Spock’s fault.

There was a knock on the door to McCoy’s office, and Jim realized that he’d been glaring at nothing when Spock slipped through the door.

“He is currently stable,” he stated plainly, clearly addressing McCoy, “but it is imperative that we take him to New Vulcan at once.” Spock glanced back at the prone form of the Kirk he’d been  _close_  to for days, nothing notable on his face. Jim felt his mouth go dry, and the mix of emotions he felt—jealousy, happiness,  _want_ —had strangely combined, causing his body to shake.

“Spock,” Jim croaked out. “I need to talk to you.”

Spock blinked at him, like he hadn’t been avoiding his eyes for days. Like nothing had changed from the first day they’d met.

“I see. Is 1300 hours convenient for you?”

Jim didn’t know; he couldn’t think of his schedule right then, didn’t have the presence of mind to ask the computer.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Spock left, and Jim knew McCoy was staring at him.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“Jim, you—you and  _Spock_ —?”

“No.” The word came out too quickly, and Jim snarled, resting his head against the nearest wall so that he saw smooth metal instead of Bones’ shocked face. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Okay, Jim. Okay.”

McCoy patted him on the shoulder when he left anyway, and Jim’s one thought— _this is messed up_ —kept circling around his head like a bird with a broken wing, going nowhere.

********

“I don’t believe in destiny” was how Jim greeted the quiet form of his First Officer, seven minutes before 1300 hundred hours, and in his First’s quarters. It was an uncomfortable parallel to how they’d started their project, and Jim saw that Spock agreed. His face was blank and Vulcan, but his back was stiff, more so than normal, and his words were cold.

“Logical, as believing in something as infinite and unfounded negates the possible influence of free will, something which is a certainty.”

Jim snapped his fingers triumphantly, and Spock just continued to stare at him like he was unwelcome.

“Exactly! And because I don’t believe in destiny…aw, hell, I’ll just be honest, okay? If you can’t be honest with a Vulcan…” Jim trailed off in a mutter, knowing that if Spock was staring at him woodenly  _now_ , his next words weren’t going to make it any better. “You’re hot stuff. No, don’t tense up; it’s alright. You’re really attractive and I like you a lot, but we’re different people. I get it, okay? I understand that in this universe you’re not for  _me_ , and I don’t poach. Not on purpose.”

Which hadn’t been what Jim had meant to say at all. He’d meant to say “let’s fool around,” or possibly “forget that soulmates stuff, let’s go have a crazy mindmeld, but only with me, okay?” He hadn’t meant to bow out of the picture completely, but he had because he must have developed some sort of knee-jerk tendency towards  _decency_ in the past few years, and Spock was still taken. Jim might have forgotten—might have even fooled himself into thinking his only competition was some alternate version of himself—but reality was reality. Uhura loved him, and Spock—in all probability—probably loved her back.

And Spock was looking at him like he’d just proposed assigning everyone a flute instead of a phaser on the next away mission.

“Indeed.” The word lacked the conviction it normally held, and Jim sighed, sitting heavily on the edge of Spock’s desk.

“I  _know_  you’re not like other-Spock and I’m not like other-me, so can we just…be friends? Anyway?”

“I see no reason to change our current status.”

Jim felt cold, and then his face felt hot.

“ _Jesus Christ, Spock!_ ” Rejection of even this little bit of closeness…if Spock had wanted to prove he was different from any other Spock that had ever existed in any universe, he certainly had, and Jim swallowed. He  _needed_  to know. “Why do you hate me?” The words were quiet, but with no other sounds to distract, they were heard clearly.

Why him? Why, out of every pair of Kirks and Spocks that Older-Spock had mentioned, was Jim the one who couldn’t be that friend? Who couldn’t appeal to  _his_  Spock? Who had nothing to offer a man who was supposed to be constant across time and space? Why, why,  _why_?

Jim didn’t expect an answer, but he didn’t expect Spock to look at him with something like alarm flashing through his dark eyes either.

“I do not hate you, Captain. I find that you are merely…uncomfortable to be around.”

“Uncomfortable? Why? I swear on my mother’s new car, I will be the most comfortable person you know!” Which sounded pathetic, but Jim didn’t take it back. Couldn’t.

Spock was silent, ominously so, and then he stood.

“You are absurdly fond of my alternate self. I do not like it.”

Before Jim could respond, Spock walked out, leaving his own quarters behind, and Jim stared. And waited.

********

Jim wasn’t sure what Spock was expecting him to do; leave in his own good time, maybe, or take the statement as just a simple fact and not question it. If Jim had been a Vulcan, he probably would have done both…but since he was a human, Jim waited until long after he should have left, carefully not intruding on even the barest parts of Spock’s privacy, not shifting from the safe spot of Spock’s office chair. He waited and thought, because Jim was a smart man and there was something…off. More than annoyance at an alternate—something else.

And when Spock came into his quarters and froze, clearly not expecting Jim to have remained, he didn’t give him the option to launch into a speech about logic, or to ask him to leave.

“In every universe that the other Spock ever went to, James Kirk and Spock were together. As friends, if nothing else.”

Spock sat hesitantly, staring at Jim the way one would an animal.

“Captain.”

Jim crossed and uncrossed his hands, flicking at his nails when Spock said nothing else.

“I don’t believe in destiny.  _You_  don’t believe in destiny. But…nothing says there can’t be a really sexy coincidence?” The last part of the statement was upturned, a hopeful question. Jim didn’t know what he wanted from Spock—he _didn’t_. But he still wanted Spock.

“Captain…” Jim braced himself. “That is logical.”

Jim didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved in his life, and he smiled wide. He felt  _warm_  again.

“You had me worried, Spock. I thought you were going to turn me down flat.”

A pensive look passed over Spock’s face, and then—curiously enough—he shifted to occupy a chair nearer to Jim. Close.

“I have observed over the past two months that my efficiency increases by seven percent when you are in the room, and that it decreases by five percent when you are sitting next to me. I have also noticed that you flush for a microsecond whenever we touch, and that you glare at the Lieutenant sixty-seven percent of the time, usually immediately after said touches. And I have noticed my…regard for you.”

Jim listened carefully, and reacted—probably badly. In his defense, it was instinctive; when someone you like says they have  _regard_  for you, what do you do? Kiss them, obviously.

It was barely a peck because Spock pulled back, startled, his back slapping the frame of the chair with the motion, and Jim slapped himself in the forehead immediately afterward.

“Jesus, Spock.  _Christ._  Sorry—I forgot about Uhura.”

Spock blinked at him very slowly, and then relaxed slightly.

“The Lieutenant and I ended our romantic dalliance three point six months ago. Although we remain good friends, I doubt she is concerned with the current recipient of my attention.”

“If she’s any kind of friend, she is,” Jim countered automatically, and then he froze.  _Did Spock just say…?_

“…Spock?”

“Captain. Jim.” It was the second time Spock had ever used his name, and this time—much like the last—Jim felt like the world was at risk of ending. “I have attempted to maintain a difference between myself and my alternative for many years, for my own reasons. I believe that, in this case, such an effort would cause more harm than good.”

Jim was grinning like an idiot—like  _ten_  idiots—and, for the first time, he actually felt brave enough to reach out to Spock without either of their lives hanging in the balance.

He touched his hand, so softly. It was warm.

“We can take it slow, Spock, see if anything develops. We can take years. We  _have_  years.” The words—the idea of _destiny_ , once so confining—were a revelation, and once that filled him with joy.

“‘Slow’ is acceptable.” Spock’s hand curled around his, squeezed once, and then released him. “But not  _years_ , Jim.” His voice was amused, and it was the best thing Jim had ever heard.

“Okay. Okay.” Jim breathed heavily, deeply, and they sat together in silence. He  _wanted_ …but he could wait—for answers, for the right time. It was freeing…and it was interrupted by the cheerful chime of the comm unit on Spock’s desk.

“Commander Spock, we’re coming up on New Vulcan, time of arrival seven minutes.”

“Acknowledged.” If they were surprised to hear from Jim in Spock’s quarters…actually, Uhura probably wasn’t surprised. It made Jim grin, even as he forced himself to stand up, and to stop looking at Spock; instead, he held out his hand.

“Well…let’s go give the old man his surprise.”


	4. Chapter 4

In the end, Spock had no choice in the matter at all—as much as things may have changed, his Jim was here and hurting from the shock of a broken bond that, by fault of the Nexus, had never been fully realized on his side until that moment; of course Spock attempted to help him, to aid him. His mind was still in turmoil—less so than Spock would have expected, but then, his younger self had clearly been attempting to stabilize him as well—and his old heart ached to see it, memories torn, edges frayed, and every emotion flicking through his mind like a field of flames. It must have hurt Jim so very much; sometimes, when Spock allowed it, the destroyed bond hurt him also, the remaining nub of connection feeling raw and aching whenever he saw their younger counterparts. And yes, Spock could admit that he was weak; he had longed to touch Jim’s mind just once more, to see all that he knew, and to feel that joy that he had lost in his foolishness.

Spock melded with him, hands trembling with more than the unsteadiness of age. He saw his wrinkled fingers, skin stretched and loose around his bones, pressed against relatively young skin, and he closed his eyes. Jim had always described the meld like swimming in an ocean of warmth and love and happiness; to Spock, it was like being on the desert again, and not being alone, or cold. And this time, it was as it had always been…but he only tended to the bond, treated it as one would any amputation, soothed it as he could, but he could not repair it. Would not.

Jim had been happy without him; Spock could see it. Perhaps the emotions were induced through false stimulus, but the barest memories that he saw of Jim’s time in the Nexus—fading in and out with his mind’s attempts to understand reality—were filled with joy, unlike their last moments together. Although the bond cried out for its other half, Spock knew that any mindlink would have done so, no matter the actual feelings of its hosts. There could be regrets, there could be unhappiness, there could be hate, and still the bond would try to forge that connection again. Spock never wanted Jim to hate him, and he suspected—given what he knew of the joy of the Nexus—that this would be exactly the result if he tried to reclaim what they’d once had.

So he nursed the bond back to aching wellness over the course of the night, never once trying to join them completely again. He enjoyed the warmth, and accepted that it would be the last time he ever felt it, because Jim had to go back, somehow. To happiness. To eternal life. Spock couldn’t keep him here, selfishly…but he did not know what to do.

He was old, and tired. Even with the excitement of the night, Spock felt wariness…and even with heartbreak heavy in his chest, his mind attempted to uncover solutions, intellect undimmed with age. He had heard of the Nexus beyond what a simple report would tell; there was a woman, great and wise, who had tried to forget that place, and she had liked Spock as much as she liked anyone, enough to aid him in his turmoil. She told him that it was like being wrapped in joy, with all of your dreams coming true…but she had not stated how one reached that place, nor did he ask. He had found it irrelevant at the time, and cruel to them both.

When this Jim was well enough, Spock would have to ask the young intrepid captain of the Enterprise how he had retrieved him, and how he could be returned. He would have to explain, possibly destroying any potential for things to be different in this universe between his alternate and Jim’s. He would have to, because Spock was only one old man, every Vulcan he’d ever met in this time was wary of him, and because the wide array of knowledgeable professionals from the science academy were no more. He did not captain a ship any longer, nor serve on one. He was, for all intents and purposes, useless for his own goals.

It was to that solemn thought that Jim began to stir, restlessly. The sun had just began to peek through the slated windows, shining off the few water droplets that remained before they evaporated, and lighting on the presence of gold still in Jim’s hair as his head tossed back and forth. Spock reflexively placed a hand on his shoulder, and Jim stilled, frowning until his few wrinkles became more apparent.

When he opened his eyes, he looked confused, and he blinked rapidly. Spock knew why; time had changed him beyond how Jim must have remembered his bondmate.

“Spock?” Spock nodded, but further conversation was impossible, as Jim clutched his head with a moan. “ _Christ_ , Spock, my head! What happened?”

“You do not recall?” A selfish, angry beast—repressed by years of emotional training—attempted to struggle to the surface of Spock’s mind.  _Lie_ , it said.  _Explain everything except the Nexus. Lie!_

He did not, and he saw Jim looking at him curiously from behind clenched hands.

“No. Spock?” He asked again, and Spock nodded again. They could have stayed that way for hours, but Spock had been unprepared for the blinding smile Jim sent him. A hundred years ago, he would have felt it like a light inside his skull, and he was surprised to find its effect no less devastating without the mental stimulation.

“Oh, thank  _God_. I thought…I don’t know what I thought. That you were dead, maybe. Why can’t I feel you?” The question was gently probing, and Spock swallowed hard against the memories that rose up at his tone.  _Why can’t I live without you?_  he’d even asked once; Spock had been flattered and in love, but he should have doubted.

But Spock simply crossed his arms behind his back, standing at parade rest almost without realizing. Distance was what he need, distance and—of all things—time.

“Events have occurred that severed the bond, but the majority of the pain you are feeling will pass shortly.”

Jim sat up with another groan, and Spock took a single step back, uncertain. Jim smiled weakly at him, still rubbing his temple.

“What are you doing all the way over there? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, so come sit down.”

Jim patted the firm couch with a welcoming hand, and Spock swallowed. To be close to him again…

“I would prefer not.”

Jim winced.

“Is it about that fight we had? I swear, I’ve said some dumb things in my life, but you know I don’t mean them.”

Spock was startled, and he stared at Jim, incredulously.

“You still remember our disagreement?” He had heard the Nexus had no concept of time, but he had thought all memories faded eventually. Interesting.

Jim just blinked at him in fond confusion.

“Yes? Couldn’t have been more than a few days ago, but you’re back, so maybe…a week? A month?” Jim frowned; Spock would have given anything to have kept the awareness of reality from raising its dark head, even for a moment. “What the hell happened, Spock?”

Spock sat, but not next to Jim.

“Jim, it has been approximately 96 years.”

Jim shook his head immediately, and tilted to one side, exhaustion showing clearly on his face.

“No. Just…no. Approximately?”

“Yes.” Jim waited, and Spock hesitated over the difficult explanation, wondering how he could condense something so monumental. “Prior to my arrival in this universe, you were lost to an alternate dimension.”  _And then death. I never said goodbye._  “You were recently retrieved and brought here.”

Jim looked around, taking in his surroundings, from the simple metal walls to the reinforced windows and the blue sunlight shining on his face.

“Retrieved? And where is ‘here?’”

“An alternate universe where the planet Vulcan and most of its occupants were destroyed. It is the year 2260.”

“Destroyed?” Jim looked horrified, and then his face immediately softened with sympathy, and love. “Oh, Spock.” He reached out for him again, and Spock nearly upended his stool as he scrambled away. Jim watched, knowledge dawning on his face.

“You’re still mad at me.”

The simple explanation, so easy, was not taken. Spock had always tried to be honest with his Jim.

“I am not. I have missed you,  _t’hy’la_.”

Jim closed his eyes and grinned at the endearment, his mouth wide, and for the first time in a very long time (excluding biological drives) Spock wanted to kiss someone.

“Then what’s wrong?”

_Many things._

“The bond has been severed, Jim,” Spock reminded softly, as if Jim could have forgotten the pounding in his head. “For me, it has been years.”

Jim sighed and smacked himself in the forehead. The gesture in response to pain did not make sense, as it never had.

“Well, when can we fix it?”

“We cannot,” Spock answered, too quickly.

“Can’t? That’s not possible; I can still feel it.”

“Some things cannot be repaired.” The words were curiously empty, but Jim must have missed his tone for the first time since they had began to truly know one another, simply closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

“Okay. Okay. I can live without it. I can.” Jim blinked and looked around again, taking in the sparse decorations, the few photos, both holographic and paper. “I guess this is your house?”

“Yes. It is my residence on New Vulcan.”

Jim’s lips twitched, in exactly the reaction Spock would have expected.

“New Vulcan? Now who came up with that?”

“The Vulcan name is  _Shar Ku-li_. Scientifically, it is Kalidoran VII.”

Jim was silent, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with sadness.

“’Safe valley,’ Spock?”

Spock turned to face the north-east wall of his home, choosing not to face the sympathy and understanding on Jim’s face.

“It seemed appropriate, as the climate is mostly inhospitable to humanoid species and the mountainous regions uninhabitable. In addition, it’s location astronomically makes it extremely advantageous in the event of an attack, as the magnetism of the surrounding planets negates most weaponry. The main soil type of the planet is—”

“Spock,” Jim interrupted, voice exasperated and tired. “Not that this isn’t fascinating, but I need to hold you right now. Come here?”

Spock took a step backwards from Jim’s open arms, and then another.

“Forgive me, but I cannot.” Jim looked like he’d been struck, and Spock hurried to excuse the refusal necessary to save what was left of his heart. “I must acquire you an identity for this universe during the course of your stay, and I must find you a residence.”

Jim frowned again, and Spock watched the expression become deeper and more pronounced. He said nothing.

“Aren’t I staying here with you?”

“For the moment.”

Jim stared.

“Spock, what  _happened_?”

Spock knew the question was inevitable, but quite illogically, he found he could not answer. Not then. Perhaps it was selfish, but he did not want Jim to remember the Nexus immediately. He wanted him to still believe Spock to be adequate, even if only for a little while, and even though he could not accept the gestures of affection.

But neither could he face Jim again, knowing that he believed he was in love, knowing that he was wrong.

“Please make yourself comfortable. I will return shortly.”

Spock left his house before the sun had fully risen, and he hurried as fast as his old bones could carry him, in case Jim decided to follow him.

********

Spock heard nothing about an unexplained human’s presence that day while he did indeed see to the paperwork of Jim’s existence; he imagined that Jim was too tired and perhaps too confused to explore, to know, as his instincts would eventually drive him to, and Spock took advantage of the fact to arrange the records of a man’s life.

He was unable to change Jim’s name as he had his own—“Jim Kirk” was all he could ever be, and Spock knew that it would be wrong to take that from him, even to preserve the secrecy of their origins. The name itself was common enough, after all, and no one seemed surprised or concerned when Spock registered him as a guest, with one of the finest rooms in the compound, paid by courtesy of Ambassador Selek. No one, that is, except Spock himself.

He returned that afternoon to find Jim examining the small, illogical trinkets on Spock’s countertop, his hair shining from the use of the sonic shower, his captain’s uniform still a bitter reminder of where they had been once.

Jim didn’t so much as turn around, picking up something that—if Spock recalled—was a miniature model of a Romulan goddess.

“I was in a dream, wasn’t I? I wasn’t just in a different dimension, it was a universe of my own making.”

Spock stiffened; it appeared his grace period had ended, and he closed his eyes. Braced.

“Yes. There was a ribbon of energy that was encountered by the ship you were on—”

“The  _Enterprise_ -B. Yes, I remember.”

Jim turned, and Spock met his eyes without flinching.

“Do you recall your time there?”

“I think I was in a cabin in Idaho. I was cooking breakfast for…” Jim’s eyes went wide and he trailed off, the guilt in his gaze twisting Spock up inside even when he turned away.

“Antonia,” Spock finished quietly. It was indeed how Captain Picard had stated in his report, unaware of the pain reality—even an alternate reality—could cause.

He heard Jim swallow, and the small wooden figurine was set back on the counter with a clack. It had been a gift from the Romulan high council, a “thank you” for his attempts at reunification. Spock saw the irony of its existence here, in a time torn by terrorism committed by a mad Romulan…but when he turned, he saw the way Jim’s eye lingered on it, remembering so much more than history, and he closed his own.

“Oh, God. What was I  _doing_?”

Jim sounded horrified with himself; Spock appreciated the kindness, if nothing else.

“You wished for a family. Someone to wait for you at home, to provide you with children. I could not.”

“That’s not true!” Jim exploded, and he held out his arms, entreating. “Spock, you were  _always_  enough for me.”

“I was not,” Spock countered harshly, surprising himself as much as Jim. It was curious—he had believed he was past anger at things that could not be changed.

Jim didn’t seem to share his control, and the crash of his fist shook the walls.

“You’re trying to send me back, aren’t you? To that other dimension.”

“Yes. It would be unfair to do otherwise.” Unkind. Unjust. There were many words, but if anyone deserved happiness, Spock knew it was Jim.

Jim glared at him like he’d been insulted, like they were fighting as they had so long ago.

“ _Damnit_ , Spock! I love you, you stupid Vulcan!”

Spock did not argue; there was no point.

“I love you as well.” His voice was suddenly weak, and he turned to the kitchen, retrieving a vitamin water and sipping it slowly before attempting to continue. “However, the Nexus created your paradise, Jim. I will return you there at any cost.”

The words had a note of finality to them, and Jim must have heard it. He sounded tired again.

“Spock…”

“I have procured you quarters in one of the adult communes. You will be provided with food and shelter, and you may assist the construction efforts as you wish.” Spock knew Jim would drive himself crazy if he attempted to remain separate from the operations of his surroundings; he had always been that way.

“No way.” Jim surprised him by touching his shoulder, and attempting to turn him. Spock savored the touch. “You don’t just get to send me away, Spock—we need to talk about this.”

“I do not wish to see you, Jim.” Spock didn’t look at him to emphasize his point, even thought he longed to do just that. Jim released him.

“I didn’t know you’d taken up  _lying._ ”

The words were tired, and Spock was sick of fighting.

“Please leave.” Jim had never disobeyed his wishes in this matter, and Spock suspected he never would. He heard him stomp away, the thin foundation leaving puffs of air and dust in his wake.

“ _Fine_.”

The door slammed behind him, the walls trembling, and Spock sat heavily, feeling a weight that would not leave settle more firmly on his shoulders.

********

Spock spent many days attempting to derive a valid method of returning Jim to the Nexus, but curiously—despite the abundance of several people with the exact same goal—he was unable to find any such simple answer. He was uncertain how this universe’s  _Enterprise_  had managed it, but with limited resources and an inability to gather new information while still maintaining secrecy, Spock could think of no alternative.

Four days after Jim had arrived, Spock left a message for  _Enterprise_ , requesting a video conference with her captain. Although he tried, Spock could not bring himself to explain the situation through a simple message, and he expected—given the emergency that had once again broken out on Callos—a response would be long in coming.

Spock avoided Jim where he saw him; a part of him knew he was still convinced that Jim was a figment of his imagination, one of many mirages that he had seen when he had still been reeling from his own broken bond. But Jim was here—was everywhere. He aided in construction, accepting the backbreaking work despite the presence of stronger beings. He worked at the registry desks, sorting papers and transferring physical records made in desperation to the more comprehensive computer records. He visited the science academy regularly…Spock was uncertain what he did there as he did not ask, but Jim did visit at least once a night.

They had developed a routine of avoidance, and it worked and did not work; Spock thought of Jim in everything he did, even if they never spoke. And, as such things tended to, their mutual avoidance could not last forever.

He nearly ran into Jim in one of the public mess halls; it was unnecessary that Spock be here as he had a private replicator himself, but he realized too late that his feet had carried him where he most wanted to be without his knowledge.

Jim just looked at him blankly. Warily.

“Hello, Captain.”

Jim sighed, and shifted his lunch tray; there was a hunk of meat and a piece of pie untouched, and Spock watched him dump the full plate into the re-replicator. Spock hoped he was eating.

“If you can’t talk to me, at least use my name. I’m still Jim, right? On paper and everywhere else.”

“Yes, Jim.” Jim nodded, but there was not an answering smile. Spock, unwillingly, attempted to draw one out anyway. “How are you faring at the colony as of today?”

Jim shrugged, and picked at a piece of lint on Spock’s shoulder that he was certain had not been present before.

“Fine. Still can’t stand Vulcan food, but there’s a replicator, so I’m fine. How goes the attempt to get me out of your life?”

The question was abrupt and unwelcome; Spock did not have an answer ready, as Jim had no doubt known.

“It is not that simple.”

Jim scowled, and his voice increased in volume. The Vulcans surrounding them politely ignored them.

“I know it’s not. That’s why I wish we could  _talk_ —”

Spock interrupted smoothly, attempting to turn the conversation to a more impersonal subject, but between them, there was no such thing.

“That is not what I was referring to. The calculations are complex, and the energy opening to the Nexus is very time dependent—” Spock cut himself off when Jim grabbed his arm and tugged him quickly from the small building. When they finally stopped, Jim looked at him with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Spock, stop it. You may not want to see me. You might be angry. You might even feel guilty—” Spock opened his mouth to object to the statement, but Jim saw it and smiled sadly, continued. “Yeah, I know. You think I don’t know you? First time in forty years you weren’t there to pull me out of trouble, and that was the one time I needed it. I died.”

Spock swallowed; while he wished he could say the assessment was inaccurate, Jim had always known him better than that, and when a gentle hand landed on his arm, Spock looked up into that same understanding.

“It was just bad luck, Spock. Maybe you weren’t there that one time…but I haven’t been here for you for years. Years and years. I’m sorry.”

Spock automatically protested Jim’s own guilt.

“You could not help that.”

“Neither could you. Let it go, Spock.”

Spock could not—he doubted he would ever be able to. But he took the soft command as permission to change the subject, and did so.

“You are not bored?”

Jim shook his head quietly to himself, and released Spock’s arm abruptly.

“No. But man, I feel so old sometimes—I took a walk around the science academy today, and some of their stuff seems downright outdated. I wish I could give them tips, but that would be wrong, wouldn’t it?”

“Affirmative.” Spock ignored the fact that he had done just that, and judging from the contemplative look of Jim’s face, he was ignoring that as well. Then Jim’s eyes narrowed, just slivers of gold, and he grinned widely.

“Did you know I dreamed of you last night?”

Spock just raised an eyebrow at the quick change of subject.

“I have no way of knowing that, Jim.”

“No, I guess not. But I guess I’m not really as old as I think, because my God, Spock, you’re still as beautiful as ever.” Spock was uncertain how to respond, and the confusion doubled as Jim touched a finger to his cheek. “I like these, you know—laugh lines. We used to be happy, didn’t we?”

Spock enjoyed the touch while it lasted, but he eventually pulled his hands away.

“Yes.”

“We can be again. Just let me back in, Spock.”

The offer was tempting and Jim’s pleading expression made him weak, but Spock still remembered. Still felt the betrayal, the insecurity, the loneliness.

“Excuse me, Jim. I have only a short break for lunch.”

Jim let him go; he knew it was a lie, just as Spock did.

********

Jim was waiting outside when Spock came home that evening, sitting quietly on the single concrete pad that existed as a makeshift porch in one of his spare outfits, the white stark against tanned skin. Spock stepped around him, but for reasons he didn’t understand, rather than dismiss him entirely, he held the door open behind him. Jim hurried in quickly, but when he began speaking, he did so while staring at the floor, and he sounded almost like he was talking to a fragment, a memory.

“I thought about the future that day, you know. When I wasn’t angry with you.”

“And what future did you see, Jim?” Spock asked, feeling the distance of the moment, and he was curious. He had not seen when he’d touched Jim’s mind just a week ago; he had not considered it.

“I thought when I came back from overseeing the ship’s launch and you came back from that science expedition, we could buy a merchant ship. Sail away together, like the good old times. We were always best together, Spock. Making a difference.”

“We did make a difference, Jim,” Spock assured him calmly.  _Like “old times” indeed._  “Many times, and in many lives.”

Jim shrugged again and sat as he had before, on the couch in Spock’s entry room.

“I know. I guess I was feeling the pull of age, that day. I thought of the life I didn’t have, of babies and the hearth fires burning, a wife—”

The words were painful, the reminder equally so.

“Why are you doing this to me, Jim?” Spock asked softly, and when Jim looked up, his expression was earnest, and insistent.

“Because you need to understand. I met Sulu’s daughter again that day, you know? She was beautiful.”

“I have met Demora Sulu.” Jim looked surprised, and Spock explained. “I was one of the high officials at her promotion to captaincy.”

“Yeah? I wanted a daughter like that.”

Spock flinched, but Jim didn’t give him a chance to answer the statement. He held him with the force of his gaze, his determination, his persistence.

“But, Spock—I never settled. I never have. I couldn’t have babies with you, but by God, I had everything else. The love. The fights. The making up. Hell, we  _had_  children in the form of every ensign that passed through the  _Enterprise_ on the road to better things. But when I went into the Nexus, I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about the fact that you’d left me behind for your own goals, and what life would be like if I  _had_  settled after all.  _That’s_  what the Nexus created. What it thought I wanted.”

Spock realized what Jim was attempting to say. If he hadn’t loved him already, Jim’s assertion that he had not wanted his paradise after all was enough.

“Jim, I understand what you are attempting to say. But the matter remains—”

“—that you weren’t there,” Jim finished, his eyes glazed as if he was still seeing that other universe. “So many things from my life were there. Pets. Old lovers. Favorite vacation spots. But see, I have a theory for that, and that’s because it was  _you_.”

Spock waited for the inevitable explanation, and it came in great bursts of enthusiasm.

“Spock, I’ve known you for decades. I’ve never seen anyone who could equal you, in all your complexity, all your rarity. Not even a universe that could grant wishes could make  _you_ , not closely enough to fool  _me_ , and it must have known. Besides,” Jim smiled then, slow and self-depreciatingly. “It’s not like I never thought of you. I did; I remember. The thoughts didn’t last, because I don’t think I was processing at my best, but every time they popped up, I missed you.” Jim laughed, sadly. “I missed you every time I remembered to.”

Silence fell between them, and Spock felt that honestly deserved honesty. He sat, hesitantly, on the edge of the couch.

 “Jim, I ache for you. I always have.”

Jim looked up, and there was hope on his familiar, perfect face.

“And you always put my happiness first, for years. I never understood why you waited so long, you know—never got it. But you thought I wouldn’t be happy with you. With my soulmate.”  Jim reached out a hand and brushed his cheek again. “You’ve always been my paradise, Spock.”

Spock had no response; he could almost believe him. Jim had never been anything but honest…and he was only human. Humans made mistakes. Even Vulcans made mistakes, and Jim had forgiven him his before. A second chance—didn’t he owe him that? Owe them both?

Spock leaned into his touch, and he had never seen Jim look so happy, and he hadn’t looked so young for years. Spock suspected he had a similar expression on his face, and he was convinced of it when Jim leaned in to kiss him. Spock felt hunger…and he forced himself to pause.

“Jim. My  _pon farr_  approaches in approximately one month. I do not wish to…pull you into another bond if you do not desire it.”

Jim smiled, and pressed the gentlest peck to his lips.

“You don’t listen at all, you know? How many times do I have to say ‘yes?’”

That question, at least, was simple.

“As many as necessary, Jim.”

“No sir; we’ll try this a different way, my old friend.” Jim kissed him on the cheek, and the touch was fleeting, teasing. Spock attempted to angle his head, and was met with the softly scented hair tickling his cheek instead.

“Do you love me?” was murmured against his throat, the question accompanied by the slow slide of an arm around his waist, to touch his lower back and spine.

“Yes, Jim.” He was rewarded with a soft kiss, and he sighed.

“Did you miss me?”

“On occasion.” Jim bit his shoulder, teeth compressing heavy cloth and skin, and Spock began to breath heavily, revising his answer quickly: “Yes. Of course.”

“Do you want me?” was only a puff of air on his slightly exposed collarbone, and Spock reached up a hand to cradle Jim’s skull, pulling fingers lightly over the back of his neck. Jim shuddered.

“No fair, and that’s not an answer.”

“Yes, Jim. Yes.”

“Do you want me  _forever_?”

To Spock, there had never been a difference. He may have sated his body when  _pon farr_  came, may have even linked with others to save his life, to save the life of his colleagues, but he had never considered more. With Jim, there was no alternative, and he answered the question as well as he could, sharing breath and hungry kisses with the man he had longed for since the first moment he’d called him “friend.”

When they separated, it was so Jim could press the overjoyed expression on his face to the weathered skin of Spock’s hands, to run his tongue along the lifeline across his palm. When they kissed again, it was so that Spock could taste the well-known crevices of his mouth as he pushed him to lean back into the welcoming, firm cushions beneath them. Jim pulled him forward, the nearly invisible layer of hair on his upper lip soothing and familiar, and he was hungry. For the first time in years, he  _wanted_. And when Jim bucked into him, grinding his own hardness against the covered length of Spock’s, he wondered how it was they had ever made it through their youth, when just a touch was enough to align their desires so perfectly.

Spock slid a hand into Jim’s pants, and touched him as he always had. The sensation was not new, nor were his actions, but there was bliss in the response, both Jim’s and Spock’s. Jim had always moaned when Spock prepared him for penetration, always shifted in irregular circles, always arched into his hands, but memory could not capture it. The way his eyes closed unintentionally. The way he bit his lip to avoid making those sinful sounds. The way Spock found himself whispering in the silence, soft nonsensical words that had never meant anything but love and lust between them. The way Jim’s body clung like it hadn’t known another for many years, and the way Spock felt arousal burning over the horizon without urgency. The way, when it ended, Jim held him like he would never let him go, and he never really had.

Spock finally decided, if nothing else, that there was something to be said about second chances.


	5. Epilogue

Jim snatched Spock’s chess piece with a flourish, feeling overly triumphant and justified—they had been playing this game for  _days_ , and Spock’s queen was gone. He was practically defenseless, and considering Jim had lost their first four games, there was an excitement in winning,  _finally_.

Spock stared at the board in response; his eyes said he approved, but Jim wasn’t entirely sure what of, since those dark eyes had more or less followed him around for days with a similar expression. Not that Jim could claim complete innocence, of course; he had his own problem with wandering gazes, and now that he knew Spock was  _free_  and  _his_  and he was  _allowed_  to look, very little stopped him. Good lord, but he’d caught himself ogling Spock’s  _elbows_  while at a peace conference on Callos; it was ridiculous and wonderful, and heaven help him if Spock ever realized what he did to Jim, making this giddy lust dance in his stomach.

Spock took advantage of the silence following the loss of his black queen, and countered with a clever move of his rook. Damn—advantage lost.

“Are you alright, Captain? You seem distracted.”

Jim shrugged, and watched Spock’s fingers.

“No, I’m fine. It’s the weirdest thing, though—when we came back into range yesterday, I got a message from, er, other Spock from about a month ago requesting a vid conference. I tried to return it, but the folks on New Vulcan said he was unavailable, and would be for about a week. Freaky, huh?”

Spock looked suddenly very interested in the black and white board that towered above them.

“Indeed. I imagine, wherever his location, your alternate is also nearby.”

The phrase was not mocking, and Jim barely even noticed when he took only another pawn rather than the bishop he’d intended. He and Spock were getting along so  _well_  these days, and if it wasn’t for the fact that ninety-five percent of his actions were tinged with  _anticipation_ , Jim could say they could have been friends—just friends.

Although, now that he thought about it, that would make the staring kind of weird.

“That’s true; they also said Selek and other-Jim were going to be running supplies from outposts to the colonies for a few months, doing the merchant thing. I guess they’ll be a bit difficult to get a hold of for a while.”

Spock did his equivalent of a shrug, and captured Jim’s last knight.

“Perhaps. However, Captain, I have no doubt that they’ll thank you when they get the chance.”

Jim frowned at the board.

“Thank me? For what?” he mumbled, not understanding. There were a lot of things Spock didn’t explain, and wouldn’t explain, not the least of which was the green blush that tinted his skin when Jim said other-Spock had gone missing for a week.

“That, Captain, is a matter for another time. Checkmate.”

Jim mock-scowled at the board; he’d just lost his fifth game, but he couldn’t be entirely unhappy about it. They had decided to move in games of five, after all, and Spock had won.

“Your consolation prize, Captain?” Spock asked politely. The professionalism of the act was ruined by the feeling of one foot snaking up his leg, and Jim grinned. Widely. Impossibly.

And if he’d lost on purpose, no one had to know.

********

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A reunion between Kirk Prime and Spock Prime is engineered by AOS Kirk, after finding out that they had feelings for each other and that Kirk Prime disappeared in the Nexus. Throughout the fic, AOS Kirk and Spock develop a budding relationship, and TOS Kirk and Spock pick up where they left off. Heavier on the TOS side of things. (I believe this last part was fulfilled since the entire thing was about retrieving Kirk, and then dumping him on Spock Prime. :D)


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